Chapter 4: 'Good Night'
The hotel chef smiled wearily as he rested his frame against the wall in his kitchen. His sous chef eagerly preparing the next rounds of gas cakes for the hotel athlete guests. Dishes piled the sinks from entrées throughout the night.
"Never thought I'd see the day Lightning McQueen would be dining at my restaurant." the head chef said, as he observed McQueen, and his entourage at their table.
"Or eating your cakes," his sous chef replied, piling four more dishes in the sinks.
"Aye, look," the chef nudged his coworker on his fender, "there's Bobby Swift!"
Rolling up to McQueen's table, Swift took a pie to the windshield before he could utter a 'hello'. Bobby's face held a dumbfounded look behind closed eyes. The rusty tow-truck's laughter filled the diner along with McQueen's and the rest of his racing team. The blue Porshe beside him– witnessing the act, giggled into her tire.
"Today... today, is a good day." The chef said proudly, despite his pies being splattered. If it was on a racing champion, it was no waste.
Across the diner, on the quieter end of the parties, Shannon and Melise shared a table. The two cars had been talking non-stop for the last few hours, and had practically become best friends.
"I'm still having a hard time believing I'm at the same hotel as famous racing athletes." Melise said, a bowl of ice cream re-filled several times sat in front of her.
Shannon laughed loudly despite no amusing words coming from Melise's mouth. She crossed her tires on the table, and rested her bumper on them, continuing her fit of giggles. A bottle of gasohol– nearly empty– was perched on her end of the table.
"Are you well, Shannon?" Melise asked, geniunely concerned. Shannon's laughter spanned off into reoccuring maniacal giggles as her tone when up and down in octaves.
A steady rev of an electric engine turned the two's attention away from each other.
Through the doorway, a few meters away, two forklifts donning a sleek black paintjob, and the number 20, rolled past the dining hall, holding two large duffel bags sporting the same logo. As the two pitties passed through, Melise was courteous enough not to stare at guests, as she observed through the corner of her windshield instead. She was slightly curious of what kind of car the rookie was. With all those neon blue letters sitting amongst a desolate night background, he didn't seem like he'd be 'just another rookie'.
With another ambient rev, a fierce-looking, black night-colored car approached the entrance of the dining room on the quiet-end– the end of the hall Melise and Shannon had all to themselves.
Donning the sides of the car, the neon-blue glow, the same blue forming rings around the tires. A vague design contoured the length of the racer's sharp and stoic frame with 'IGNTR : Liquid Adrenaline' embelished in luminous blue font, just behind his front wheel.
Melise's gas tank turned in anxiousness. The very sight of the intricate and advanced looking racer made the room feel smaller, somehow.
'He must be Jackson Storm,' she thought, as her eyes abruptly glanced up, then back down to mind her own business.
Shannon glanced back and forth from the bottles of gasohol at the unoccupied bar nearby the racer, to her empty cup several times, as if the two were oceans apart.
Jackson rolled at a modertely slow speed, his expression, calm and collected. His grey eyes– arcane but void of any baleful nature– scanned the room briefly as he followed his pitties behind the corridor.
He focussed on Shannon reaching her tire for the bar meters away from her table, Storm's expression etching slight confusion. His eyes turned to Melise, as she was trying to snap Shannon out of her stupor by holding her free tire over the table and reeling in embarrassment– keeping her attention purposely away from the racer.
Jackson's expression turned back to a cool, and relaxed state as he glanced towards the other patrons and racers partying across the restaurant. He studied them briefly, then adverted his eyes away.
Turning his attention back towards the forklifts ahead of him, Jackson's expression became uninterested and bored with the comotion of the diner. His eyes blinked slowly, and remained even less alert than they were when he made his entrance.
He followed the two pitties out the hall, as the idle hum of his electric engine faded away.
"You don't gotta say it," Shannon slurred, as Melise looked up at her, "yup, that was... umm... the rookie."
The sudden hooting and hollering across the diner caught Melise's attention. Lightning was presenting red roses to the blue Porshe. She was staring into his eyes admiringly, blush rising to her hood. McQueen's pitty, the blue forklift, popped a cork off a bottle of expensive beverage. The yellow Fiat beside him smiled at the pair, saying, "bellisimo".
Melise smiled at Team McQueen's party, they seemed like a friendly bunch. Her sight made contact with the eyes of the rusty Tow-Truck, and he grinned back, now accelerating towards her. Melise became nervous, hoping he wouldn't cause her to become the center of attention in the restaurant.
"Well, howdy Miss," his accent rolled off his tongue in friendly yips, "hope you's enjoyin' dinner."
Melise smiled warmly– geniunely, "Yes I am, well..." she raised her tire and emphasized the space between her seat, and Shannon's space in front of her, "we are– I should say," she gleamed. Her eyes never left the focus of the truck in front of her.
"Good ta' see ya happy," he praised. "My name's Mater."
"You're very kind, Mater," Melise replied, "I'm Melise."
"Fancy meetin' ya, May-leese, I was gon' to ask you why you is all alone at a table for two?"
Melise presented a perplexed look at Mater, she quickly looked to the other side of the table, to Shannon– who was no longer at the table.
"Wha- where did she go!?" she asked, to no car in particular. Melise accelerated from her seat to glance down the two halls, one to enter the diner, the other to exit towards the hotel suite floors.
"Yer' friend's gone missing?" Mater asked, searching the diner with his eyes for a car he didn't know.
"Ah, uhm– she's probably–" Melise's train of thought was buzzing in overdrive as she wondered where the spokescar could be.
"Her suite!" Melise zoomed towards the exit of the diner, briefly making a quick turn to thank a confused Mater, onlooking.
After checking the women's restroom to find no Shannon, Melise glanced to the elevator, also at the exit of the restaurant lounge.
She pressed the button, chewing on her tire as she wondered where the woman could have sped off to, 'I hope she made it to her room. Where could Shannon, be?'
The elevator chimed a light ding, and opened to reveal a weary, Shannon, leaned up against the side of the wall. Melise stared, holding in her laughter after a moment of watching Shannon bobbing her hood to the classical elevator music, as if it were death metal.
Upon reaching the floor the two cars shared, Melise began her highlight of the day, pulling a drunk RSN reporter to her suite.
"Next time... don't drink... at all" the convertible pushed her newfound friend down the empty hall.
Without the sunlight luminating the mosaics on each suite, the hallway made up for it with artistic paintings of historic cars.
Shannon mumbled something as her eyes blinked slowly.
With the reporter's suite in sight, Melise accelerated to open the door, then pushed Shannon inside.
It didn't take more than a few seconds for Shannon to crawl on her axles to the bed. She abruptly said, "good night" before almost throwing up, then relaxing into the sheets.
Melise sighed, watching the woman. She never imagined her first full day would be this interesting.
Glancing at the analog clock perched on the table near the window, the time was merely 9;48 PM. The day felt longer than usual, and the fact that it was only ten at night seemed surreal to Melise. Despite the time, she wasn't much tired at all, and when she wasn't tired, she explored.
'I didn't really get to explore today anyway,' she pondered, remembering how she had just made in fifteen miles worth of a drive, before meeting Shannon and changing her plans.
The hotel was just one place, and the Copper Canyon Speedway was just across the road. Melise wasn't a racer, but why not check out how big a raceway was when you weren't just a spectator?
As Shannon began to snore lightly, Melise made a U-turn for the door, when she heard a masculine and stoical voice from the hallway. She idled where she was, not wanting to intrude on whoever it was.
"Not gonna happen," Jackson said, outside of his suite, "those old-timers can eat dinner alone." He had reversed out of his room to get better reception on his phone call.
Ray sighed on the other end of the phone, "you're representing IGNTR, Jackson. Those legends– like McQueen, will be in front of the press at the Copper Canyon race." he lectured.
"Come on, Ray, wasn't it you who told me to lay low, and train until the race?" Storm smiled to himself, waiting for his crew chief to reply.
"I said, train until I get there," Reverham replied simply. "That doesn't mean ignore every car, and not show up for dinner."
Jackson's jaw flexed once, his demeanor relaxed as he thought about Ray's words.
"We talked about 'working on it', Jackson, you need to be more social with the other cars."
Jackson sighed, his frame relaxed, "Yeah... yeah Ray, I remember."
"And I remember you stopped calling me 'Gus' exclusively about two weeks ago,"
Despite the statement being true, Jackson couldn't help but laugh. Ray really was a great crew chief, he stuck by Jackson's side through thick and thin roads. He was there when he had no clue what was to come in the start of his racing career. Ray, Stats, Gale and IGNTR– they all saw something in him when he was just another car in Los Angeles.
"No need to remind me about that," Jackson replied, "you're 'Ray' to me, and only I get to call you 'Gus'... by accident this time around."
Ray appreciated Jackson's unintended, humorous way of apologizing for the first impression he had made when the two first met. In all his years being a crew chief, he had never met a racer as interesting as Jackson Storm. The way he had this ominous– but collected look, the way his voice rolled off his tongue with articulance many young cars didn't seem to possess. The way his face went from the calm expression without a care in the world, to lighting up like he was a little boy again when he saw something impressive or abstract.
But what Ray loved about Jackson, was that he wasn't a quitter. He even said it himself, when he was disciplined at the racing center during his days of tardiness, and rigorous training. Storm made it this far on horsepower and torque alone, Ray just guided him along.
"So the simulator is arriving with the rest of your pitties tomorrow morning," Ray stated, "I'll be around at afternoon... "
The door right beside Storm, and his suite began to open slowly, Jackson turned on his tires, and glanced over.
A convertible, coloured in peach, rolled out of the suite after a brief moment behind the opened door. She glanced at him quickly, then accelerated during her right turn into the hallway, moving out of Jackson's space.
Jackson's eyes trained on hers, scanning her face abruptly. An inquired look slowly spread across his blank expression with each second passing. Her paintjob seemed familiar.
She smiled warmly, as she drove past him down the hallway.
"Hey! Storm, are you there?" Ray's voice on the phone, suddenly came back to Jackson's hearing.
"...Yeah, yeah. I heard you," he replied, turning his attention away from the girl leaving down the hall. She must've been one of those 'groupies' he had heard about.
"If you don't want to socialize with cars, at least train until the simulator gets there," Ray said, "and it's getting late, you should rest up for exercises tomorrow."
"Train or sleep," Jackson summarized.
"I'll head to the track, and do some laps, no-brainer. Ray,"
"What!? Jackson it's late–"
"It was socialize with cars or train, right? You know which one I've always chosen."
Ray sighed, "Just don't wreck yourself out there, or complain about the smell of the track."
Jackson scoffed, "When I've made it this far, the only thing that's gonna wreck or smell, is the old racers."
Ray chuckled on the other end, "Good night, Storm."
"'Night, Ray," Jackson replied, "And... thanks for sticking by my side."
"You're welcome, Jackson, nothing like working with a another rookie."
Jackson smiled, despite knowing Ray couldn't see it, but he knew Ray had an idea it was happening.
With the call ending, Jackson headed out to the Copper Canyon Speedway for a night to burn rubber.